


Royaltui in Mel, a Dagr

by susiephalange



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, BAMF Gimli, Battle Couple, Blood and Violence, Canon Compliant, Denial of Feelings, Elves, F/M, Female Reader, Fluff, Kissing, Sharing a Bed, The Hobbit/The Lord of the Rings Fusion, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-30
Updated: 2017-08-30
Packaged: 2018-12-21 13:43:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11945481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/susiephalange/pseuds/susiephalange
Summary: While the nine who are the Fellowship of the Ring go to destroy Sauron's hold on Middle Earth, a skilled elven warrior, the daughter of the Lord and Lady of Lothlórien follows in suit and secrecy to maintain the company's success. She may also catch feelings, she won't face them until the battle has come to an end...or they hit her over the head.





	Royaltui in Mel, a Dagr

**Author's Note:**

> The requester (from Wattpad!) wished to have the reader as an Elven Princess. I said yes because I've always wanted to write something like this...even if I'm not the biggest fan of Legolas (I mean, the dude's cool and all, but it's hard to have a crush on both the father and son in the family without it being awkward...team Thranduil for lyf)...anyways. 
> 
> I'm not a Tolkien expert in Elvish, but I used a [translater](http://funtranslations.com/elvish) online to make the title, which translates to _Royalty in Love, and War_. 
> 
> Enjoy reading!

The path was long, and the journey, often dangerous, but still, you lived. It was something that elves did best, you believed, living; they often lived longer than other species, preserving cultures within their words and tomes hidden away in the forests they lived within. As the daughter of the Lord of Lothlórien, you had been raised from a young age to be a defender of the forest, for elf kind, but when you had heard that this training was for none, you partially went into a sort of despair.

Lord Elrond knew of your abilities; you could fell many spiders with the stroke of your sword, adept at the arts of defence, acrobatics as well as the other things females destined to become royalty one day were supposed to. You were known as Princess __________, but being the leader of the guard of the Golden Wood, you preferred to be just __________; titles could wait until there was a throne under your foot and a gilded crown upon your head. He knew of your abilities, yes, but still, word told that he chose the aid of a Man from Gondor instead of you, and decreed that nine would take the ring to Mordor, and only nine.

The despair was short lived, as the night the word had reached you, you had packed yourself a traveling kit, the gear to sleep upon, to eat, to fight with, and told your father what you were doing. You did not tell him there was any choice in the matter on his part, because he knew that already. Your mother was Galadriel, and she was the wisest, and the most headstrong of elves there were. Thus, you departed for your mission; to watch over the fellowship of the ring, to keep them safe from wraiths and harm.

But the day you woke late, harm fell upon the group you swore to yourself to protect. You arrived too late, and stood upon the hill, and watched the man Boromir as he fell, arrows deep within his chest. You lost your breath, tears biting upon your eyes. But they did not hinder your sight, as you quickly drew your twin swords, and fought off the oncoming Orc attack. Because of your fight there that day, the two Hobbits made away that day, and the son of King Thranduil and the Man, heir to Gondor, and a Dwarf were about to depart when you ran upon the shore.

“Do not leave me behind!” you screamed, waving your sword.

The light glinted, glaring into the light eyes of the elven prince, and with his hands at the oars, stilled the boat. You ran out across the shallow waters, your pack bouncing, swords held high until you were to your neck in the water, and made it to the boat.

You were treading water, swimming, but still, the Man did not lend a hand to help you up. He looked at you with a dark, furrowed brow, lips set. “Who are you, and what are your intentions?”

“Get me out of the water!” you cried out, “My Lembas bread is going to be ruined!”

The elven man shifted, and reaching out, gave you a hand into the boat. You were soaked to the bone indeed, and dripping much water into the boat. Your hair plastered to your face, hood down, the males in the boat looked at you in a strange way.  

“You’re an elf,” the Dwarf eyed your ears, and scratched at his beard, wary.

“Yes, I am.” You reply, “My name is __________,” you introduce.

“You’re a woman,” the Man commented, near incredulous.

“She’s the Princess of Lothlórien,” the elvish prince stated, “Forgive us–,”

You shake your head, water droplets flying from your face. “Enough with all the titles. Yes, I’m the princess, and yes, that makes me female, but we all know you saved me because of my rations. I brought plenty to share.” You eye the elf, and nodding, add, “I have followed the fellowship for quite some time, keeping an eye for all of your safety.”

The dwarfish man grunted. “Didn’t do a very good job, now, did you?”

You nod. “I admit, yes, I failed today. But it does not mean I shall fail every day, or perhaps, tomorrow. I, __________, pledge to aid you all in the quest to destroy the ring and bring balance and peace to Middle Earth.”

The Man made a noise, perhaps a good one, since his lips were turned up. “That is pleasant to hear. I am Aragorn –,”

The elf blinked, “Son of Arathorn, called Elessar the Elfstone, Dunadan. He is the heir of Isildur Elendil's son, of Gondor,” he announced. Beside him, Aragorn looked a little miffed that the glory of saying his name was taken, and sat silent.

The Dwarf adjusted his axe, “I’m Gimli.”

You frowned, “Son of Glóin? I heard of fantastic things that the company of Thorin did, on the Lonely Mountain,” you beam. “My mother advised much of what Gandalf the Grey was to do. A pity I was too young,” You glance to the elf, and add, “But you were there, weren’t you, princeling?”

The blonde elf turned his face to the oars, nodding. There were words upon his tongue, but at that moment, they did not come forth. Choosing not to pursue the topic, you turned to silence, and began sorting out rations to share with your present company.

* * *

You cut down many Wargs that day. Your words shared the day you met the trio in the boat, when you had admitted flaws; the oath had come true again. While you had cut down many Orcs, you had not cut down enough, as when you turned to Aragorn, as the battle was ending, he was nowhere to be seen. Believed dead, and your honour once again besmirched, you did all you could for the humans (and Legolas Gimli), you rode with.

You stayed behind to ride alongside with them, silently mourning the Man whose life had been lost. You had lived for many a century, and most of them, in ignorance of the beauty of life, and the importance of living for the day. But these days, while on the ride toward the ever-looming battle that would end the misery and treachery upon Middle Earth, you found yourself learning to love each day. Every sunset. Every glance shared –

Though yes, you had been sharing a tent to sleep, and many a horse when horses were sparse, you were not infatuated with the elf. Perhaps intrigued. Interested romantically? No. You thought him a good soldier, a fantastic shot, a handsome face – you closed your eyes, face burning with the evidence of your thoughts, and kept them to yourself for the ride to Helm’s Deep.

But with no food, and little sleep, you found yourself suiting up once more in your armour, and not alone. Legolas stood in the corner, counting his arrows, fixing the flint upon the shaft. His light eyes lifted from his work to you as you entered, a little smile falling upon his soft lips too.

“The world of Men and Orc need to know the importance of sleep,” you tell him with a sigh, strapping your arm guards on. “We Elves would never fight when it didn’t suit us. At least, I wouldn’t.”

He gave a chuckle at that. “You would get along with my father, I think.”

There was a shout from beyond the room, and Legolas looked back to his bow. You turned to see, and instead of the faces of warriors you knew not the names of, you saw the face of Aragorn. You must have been pale with shock, as he too gave a chuckle, and ruffled your hair as he passed through the threshold to the armoury. “I’m not dead, and we won’t be either as the night ends.”

You gave a breathy sort of laugh at that. “How convincing. I suppose we shall all know when the morning comes, won’t we?”

Legolas nodded.

Morning came, but not before you were up to your shoulders in filth, rainwater, and blood. You weren’t sure if it were the blood of Man, or Orc, or perhaps, even your own. It was red, and thick, and stuck, and stunk. But it came onto not easily; every blow took effort, every head that rolled brought sweat to your brow. Beside you, Legolas fought valiantly, seemingly never to run out of ammunition from his quiver, and Gimli fought bravely as ever, his sarcastic wit never failing to bring a smile to your lips despite the bloodshed.

He had saved your life perhaps many a time that night; when you had almost slipped on an Orc corpse, to collapse into the clutches of the enemy. When you were focusing on the kill ahead of you, to not notice a sneak attack behind. You had saved his too, there was no doubt about that – when his arrows were not enough, you would strike for the kill, and you stayed not too far from his back, working hard. If Gimli saw anything strange the fast-paced action of Elves in battle, he did not say a word about it, only to do his best to survive the night.

And when morning came, oh, when it broke overhead like a blessing from the Ilúvatar, you felt the tiredness from your soul come spilling out over your skin, your bones, and exhausted, found a place to sleep, but only to be woken hours later by an unfamiliar face who ordered you to bathe, and change from the filthy armour you wore.

That evening, you saw Legolas once again. He addressed you by name, and not rank – which makes you feel a wave of relief wash over you – and looks tired too, his hair flat, eyes almost hollow. From what you have heard of the Woodland Realm in Mirkwood, the elf before you most probably miss his home, his life, his place.

All the war and bloodlust of Men would drive anyone crazy, much less a royal blooded elf. You supposed you were one of those too. You spent so much of your time wanting to not use your title, you had almost forgotten your roots.

“You fought well,” he tells you.

You stand there, taking his words in, wondering why you feel a pang of disappointment at those three words uttered from his mouth. _You fought well._ Perhaps you had hoped he would have said another three words, or something else entirely, or asked if you had seen his kit to sharpen the arrows he could salvage.

You blink. “Than-thank you, Prince Legolas,” you stammer, turning away. You look to where your sleeping kit had gone to, and eyeing it in the corner, make to use it. “I –,”

“Prince?” He repeats, incredulous despite his apparent exhausted appearance. “You never call me that, __________, is something wrong?”

You shake your head once, lowering yourself to your roll-out bed, you see him still standing where he was minutes before. You are all tucked up in your bed roll, and he’s still staring. “Is something wrong?” You repeat his words.

Legolas shakes his head. “Someone’s taken my sleeping kit.”

You know what he’s inferring. He may not be the worst of all the male elves out there – and you’ve met some of those kinds before – and he might not be the most clued-up as to what sharing a bed roll is. But, you’ve shared tents, and there isn’t much difference in this, except you’ll be closer. You feel your neck grow warm at the thought, but don’t mention it.

“Get in,” you grumble, shifting to allow room for another elf in the sleeping kit, “And blow out that candle before you get in. I’m going to get nine hours of sleep, or else.”

Legolas blows the candle out as asked, and folds himself beside you in the bed roll. It’s warmer, with two bodies, and you do not face him, otherwise you’d be too close, close enough to see in the dark even without the light of the stars and moon to reveal. His breath is warm on your neck, and as your eyes grow heavy with the tiredness of the previous night’s fight, he clears his throat.

“What will you do when this is over?” He asks you.

Your eyes open, brain turned back on. You’re wide awake now, and slowly, you turn to face Legolas. “I’ll return to the forest where my mother and father rule,” you tell him. “I’ll age another five hundred years, and then I’ll be married off to another kingdom like I’ve always been told I will. I’ll have children, and then those children will have children –,”

He shakes his head. “What will _you_ do?” He asks you, reiterating a single word.

You had to pause. “I’ll…I don’t know.” You breathe. “What – what will you do, Princeling?”

You can almost hear his eyes roll. “I’m just Legolas. I’ll return to the forest, to my friends. When I left, Tauriel is was in mourning, and my father at the helm of a growing colony for both Mankind and Elves alike.” He took a breath, and added, “I will return to the forest where my father rules, protect the place I live, and be married off to another kingdom –,”

“I get it.” You interrupt, and let out a sort of laugh, add, turning away from him, “now, this is goodnight. I need to sleep, or else I’ll be grumpy tomorrow.”

* * *

As crown was placed upon the brow of Aragorn, you felt a weight fall from your shoulders. It was the same weight you had placed there when you had snuck out from your home in the forest, added upon every day since, and heavy in the later days as the whole of Middle Earth were hoping two Hobbits could cast a ring into the depths of Mount Doom to its death. You stood there, wearing clothes borrowed from the wardrobes of the women of Gondor, standing beside Legolas and Gimli to watch the ceremony.

“Any more thought of what you will do, now it’s over?” He asks you, barely glancing away from Aragorn’s crowning glory, and Arwen’s ethereal beauty.

You nudge him, smirking. “It’s over now, isn’t it?” You ask him in jest. But it is over. There is no more duty toward the fellowship. You’re a free elf once again.

He nods. “Yes.”

You sigh. “I’ve see so much of the world, I don’t want to go back to that life I used to live.” You confess, glancing to see the blonde prince’s reaction. But he’s already looking to you, gazing deep into your eyes, lips apart. “What?”

He smiles at that, even if your words aren’t eloquent anymore with all the life spent with the language of Men spoken around you. “I thought you knew already…I think I’ve decided I want to be married now.” The words hit hard. But why does it bother you? “As soon as she says yes.”

You raise your eyebrows. “Have you asked her?” You wonder.

He nods. “Just then.” It takes a moment, and then you realise what Legolas means by those select words. All at once, your stupid heart and all the mixed feelings and the confusion you have felt for so long reaches your heartbeat, stilling it for a moment beneath your breast. You’re breathless as he adds to his statement, “I’ve loved you since the battle we fought Wargs…but maybe when I first saw you, in the boat.”

“We all know that you saved me because of my Lembas.” You laugh at that, unsure where the breath comes from to do so, “…I’m such an idiot.”

He shakes his head. “Not to me,” Legolas whispers.

While all the eyes are on Aragorn and Arwen, and the ceremony of the century, his eyes are on you, and yours upon his, and slowly, cupping your cheeks, he lifts your lips to his, and as the crowds applaud the new King of Gondor, you share a kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> If you have any requests, find me on Tumblr at @susiephalange, or [@phalangewrites](https://phalangewrites.tumblr.com/request_conditions) ʕ·ᴥ·ʔ✿


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